


lips like the galaxy's edge

by kiira



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: !!!!!!!! LOVE EM, Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, clarke/lexa also plays into this but eh not enough to be a tag u feel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-31 00:59:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3958498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiira/pseuds/kiira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your date had disappeared, Clarke was making out with Lexa in a corner and Finn stopped responding to your texts (roughly) seventeen minutes and twenty seconds ago. You were truly, properly bored out of your mind.</p><p>or </p><p>the octavia x raven hsau that literally no one needed</p>
            </blockquote>





	lips like the galaxy's edge

 

You didn’t really know that she was  _the_  Octavia Blake until it was too late. Like yeah – Clarke talked about her  _all the time_ , literally never shut up about her, but Octavia had moved away the year before you transferred, and you had never really met the girl.

Of course you had seen photos, but it was dark, she was hot and your date had ditched you like two hours ago for some party on the beach.

He was kind of an asshole anyways, some friend of a friend of Clarke’s and she batted her eyelashes at you until you agreed to go with him (you never could say no to Clarke).

He had disappeared, Clarke was making out with Lexa in a corner and Finn stopped responding to your texts (roughly) seventeen minutes and twenty seconds ago. You were truly, properly bored out of your mind.

And that’s when she plops down onto the couch next to you, sweaty, hair falling out of a high ponytail, black eyeliner smudged, and absolutely gorgeous.

“Hey,” she says, shouting above the music that  _someone_  decided should be at ‘blow your eardrums out’ level, “I was getting tired and you looked infinitely more interesting than them,” and she jerks her chin at a bunch of guys playing beer pong.

You think they’re all on the lacrosse team, or the football team, or the  _something_  team, and they’re all actually wearing jerseys. The girl next to you pretends to gag and you decide then that you like her.

“I am,” you agree. “I’m Raven, by the way,” and something like recognition sparks in her eyes but maybe she’s just drunk, or maybe it’s just the Christmas lights someone strung up because they thought it “added to the atmosphere.” Whatever it is, she shrugs and slides closer to you, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder.

“So,” she shouts practically in your ear, “How did you manage to spend your Saturday night in someone’s basement watching the entire soccer team play beer pong?”

Soccer. It’s soccer. Whatever.

“Nothing good on TV,” and you see Clarke tug Lexa out of the room in the corner of your eye. There goes your ride home.

You turn your attention back to the girl, who you realize has yet to give you her name, and she looks personally offended.

“I know for a fact that there is a marathon of the Fast and the Furious movies on right now, as we speak, so please think through your next sentence very carefully.”

“Why are you in someone’s basement if you’re so invested in a franchise about car racing and explosions?” You ask instead, and she shrugs.

“I own most of the DVDs. I can miss  _one_  marathon to go watch high schoolers get drunk,” and she rests her chin on your shoulder. “Plus my brother’s watching it, and he’s sending me all the trivia shit.” She taps her phone on and sure enough there are about thirty texts from someone named “Bell” which all say things like, “Contrary to popular belief, there were no full CGI cars in this scene,” and “Six separate vaults were built to film this scene.”

“How are you supposed to know which …”

“Scene it is?” She finishes. “I’ve seen these movies like a hundred times. Believe me, I know.” and she slips her phone into her back pocket. “Don’t tell anyone though, I have a reputation to maintain,” and she  _smirks_  a little, which is totally irrelevant to her last statement and  _totally_  hot. It’s also totally not helping that she’s literally two centimeters away from your ear, pressed up against your side.

“If you want,” you offer, “I think there’s a TV in the next room over. We could go watch your stupid movies in there, cause despite the fact that these gentlemen are fucking  _Olympians_  in the sport of beer pong,” you look over at them and you think one is trying to take his shirt off to clean up spilled beer, “they fucking suck.”

She looks at you for a second (does she stop on your lips?), and nods, offering you a hand off the couch, keeps holding it as you cross the room.

You know exactly what it looks like, but to be honest, you don’t really care. (You’re about 75% sure that Jasper wolf-whistles and says  _something_  followed by your name as you leave the room, so you give him the finger. He probably deserves it anyways).

She pulls you into the hall and then stops, considers something, you think.

“You good?” You ask, cause maybe she’s had too much to drink and maybe this was a bad idea.

She nods and then pushes you against a wall, hips pushing against yours and you’re still processing it when she kisses you, hot and messy and  _fucking hell_  she’s scraping her teeth against your lip.

Not where you saw this evening going.

She pulls away, kind of wide-eyed breathless and bites her own lip and she’s probably the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen, which is stupid and lame but you can’t find yourself caring.

“I mean,” you say, “you could totally do that again and I wouldn’t complain. In fact, I would probably welcome it,” and she laughs.

You kiss her this time, because you like to be in control, and she only got it because she surprised you, caught you off guard. You thank God or Jesus or Clarke or whoever told you to wear a crop top to this party because you can feel her hands on your waist, and they’re warm and soft and you stumble a little (still vaguely not used to your leg).

“Sorry,” you whisper, pulling away from her mouth, “my leg is kind of shit,” and she shrugs.

“I think there’s a couch in that room you were trying to take me to in order to seduce me,” and she tugs you to the doorway.

“I just wanted to watch TV,” you say, “you’re the one who jumped me,” and she stops suddenly in the doorway.

“Someone had the same idea,” and you peek over her shoulder. Of  _fucking_  course it’s Clarke, and you can only tell because you can see that tattoo on her shoulder blade that she made you come with her to get as soon as her mother gave her permission. 

“Get a  _room_ , Griffin!” you shout, and nudge your way in front of the girl (whose name you  _still don’t know_ ) and Clarke whips her head around, looking incredibly guilty. Lexa just covers her face and mumbles something like, “I  _told_  you we shouldn’t have done this here.”

“Hey Reyes!” she says cheerily, tugging her shirt back down. “So me and Lexa are gonna go to her place cause her aunt’s out of town this weekend. Do you have a ride home?”

From behind you comes, “Bell can give her a ride home,” and Clarke squints into the light of the hallway before squealing and launching herself at the girl.

“O! You  _came_! I didn’t  _see_  you!”

You’ve kind of put it all together by the time that Clarke turns around and points at you.

“Octavia Blake, this is Raven Reyes, my best friend in the entire world. Raven Reyes, this is Octavia Blake, my best friend in the entire world.”

“We’ve kind of met,” you say, and Octavia nods.

“You could say that,” and Clarke is so clearly otherwise occupied with the fact that Lexa is kissing her neck that she just nods.

“Great …. great …. I’m just gonna …. go ….” and then you’re standing in the empty TV room with Octavia Blake, fantastic kisser, hot as hell and your best friend’s best friend.

“Clarke talks a lot about you,” you finally say, because it’s silent and slightly awkward. “I think I know like every embarrassing thing that’s happened to you from like the age of six through the age of fourteen.”

She raises an eyebrow and does the smirking thing again (and you wish you were kissing her again), “Well,” she says, “I know all about the incident in history class last year,” and you groan because Clarke had  _just_  stopped teasing you about this.

“It’s cute,” Octavia continues, and you duck your head.

“It’s  _really_  not,” and when you look back up she’s close again, eyelashes, sparkling eyeshadow, tiny curls of hair slipping down around her face.

“Well,” she whispers, “ _I_  think it is,” and then you are kissing again, and she pulls you down onto the couch and it’s only a little bit uncomfortable, only a little bit of awkward folded limbs, and mostly Octavia’s mouth on yours, you kissing her neck, collarbone.

Yeah.

_Really_  not where you saw the night going.

**Author's Note:**

> this has been sitting unfinished in my drafts for like a month so ... i thought i would finish it!!
> 
> come hang out @ bettymcraae.tumblr.com if u want i guess


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